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Clueless in Gaza

The world mourns us Jews when we die. It’s so sorry about the Holocaust and the 6 million slaughtered simply for being Jews. The world regretted the killing of the Israeli athletes at the Munich Olympics, and it was too bad about Leon Klinghofer. Yes, the world feels for us when we die, but not when we fight back.

Rockets pouring into Israel is a small story for the world. But for Israelis, it’s not so small. The United States would be unlikely to tolerate 30, 40, 50 rockets a day coming into our territory from Cuba–particularly if Cuba denied our right to exist.

The world mourns for Palestinians when Israelis kill them, but strangely not when they kill each other or are slaughtered by the Jordanian military–as they were on Black September. The Arab World mourns their tragic plight–as they should–but they do not take them in and assimilate them. They’re imprisoned in Gaza and in camps in Lebanon in order to keep the festering wound open.

One of the many troubling pictures in my head is that when Palestinians blow up Israelis, they celebrate. When Israelis bomb Palestinians, there is neither joy nor celebration. The dead are just as dead and the mourners’ grief is just as great…yet it is a disturbing distinction.

For a moment let’s assume that both sides are right. Israel can’t tolerate rockets coming in from a land sworn to destroy the nation. And Palestinians are right that their lives are untenable. Let’s stipulate that everyone has a perfectly understandable right to be furious.

Now, let’s ask the Dr. Phil question: So how’s this working for everyone? We’ve been doing this for over 40 years and who is safer, more secure and living better? If insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, this is indeed crazy.

The future is clear if we continue like this. More Palestinians are willing to die than Israel is willing to kill. Becoming more willing to kill might not be the right answer. Breaking this tragic chain of inevitability is the only hope. The chain is strong–forged by years of death, and hope is weak. But it is real.